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Hello friends, it is so long since I visited this site. But I thought I would come and share my latest design with you. This is the first chapter of an erotic short story I am writing. The protagonist is Jaxmine, a skamian, who are a saurian race who inhabit my fantasy world, styled after the lizardfolk, yet more evolved. I hope you enjoy this brief glimpse. The rest will be posted on my blog Jaxmine.net!

I
The Winterborne School of Magick and Ascended Learning

In less than an hour of placing it on the desk, Jaxmine had come to accept that the object, with all its obtrusiveness and curvature, would not permit anything more than her complete and undivided attention. It was not an unwelcome distraction. Under the rafters and against the bowed gable wall of the attic room in the Winking Mare Tavern on that lonely, storm-wracked cliff by the North Sea Inlet, her studies had hitherto disallowed much in the way of practical application, and notwithstanding the promise of a comprehensive syllabus, there had been little intellectual stimulation for her – sentiments that were echoed by her peers. To finally have in her hands a physical object of collegiate interest, and something so rare and peculiar, at last made months of befuddling academic torture worthwhile.

Her eyes fell to it once again, to its flowing lines and bulbous substructure, and with the tender scintillations of the bedroom candles, the sensual curves of the glass-blown marital-aid on her desk glowed with an iridescent lambency. It desired to be touched, to be experienced through taction, embrace, and hedonic union.

Throughout her term, Jaxmine had been grateful for the tumult and boisterous patrons of the tavern below, whose mirth assuaged the unremitting howl of wind and lash of rain that shook the eaves and pressed against the windows of the old tavern house. The thrum of life that beat below the centuried floor-boards of that creaking attic-room rose and fell as constant as the North Sea that lashed the rocks beyond the narrow streets of Wintercombe, and sent chill winds through the crowded wharves and stave-houses, which huddled behind the shelter of the Kreath – the rocky promontory that, at its peak, carried the misty golden spires of the university.

This coastal mountaintop, the region’s most salient geographical wonder, was reached by a treacherous stone stair of seven-hundred steps, aided by no balustrade, natural or manmade. The prospect of this ascent, made yet more arduous by the high winds and hail from the North Sea, was enough to ward away the grim persistence of even the most dogged adventurers. For unlike many other contemporary arcane institutions, the Winterborne school did not thrive on witless disciples of absurd and inconsequential studies to fund its faculties. It was that magnificent rare example of a wizarding establishment that had eschewed modern trends of open-door education in favour of esotericism and exclusivity.

But those who had conquered the grueling steps to its peak, entered its timeworn doors, witnessed its hoary towers, and walked its veiled cloisters, were at last rewarded for their conviction and privy to the greatest arcane knowledge and guarded secret granted only to the school’s body and alumni: the hidden terrace at the foot of the mountain, where the lodestone column permitted teleportation directly and conveniently to the foyer of the Conjuration Tower.

The knowledge and proximity of this lodestone made it easier for Jaxmine, who had hitherto inhabited the student digs, to justify renting the attic room off old Halldora at the Winking Mare for a lower rate. The old Inn was the oldest tavern in Wintercombe, and nearest to the university, having been built around the same time when the town sprung up on that part of the coast. The room was cheaper than any of the private residences’ accommodation, being that it was above such a rambunctious lot, but this pleased Jaxmine, who preferred to hear the cheerful songs of the bard and the rowdy heckling of men over the plaintive howl of the sea wind. She also found it easier to remunerate her land-lady by satiating the tavern’s carnal patrons now and then, though justly when there was not an assignment due imminently. And even so, allowing the occasional Nordic stallion to despoil her backside was infinitely preferable than living without any privacy in a group dormitory with the blue-skinned Drowish lot. Add to it that, on clear days as least, her window afforded her a fine view across a half-dozen or so gambrel rooves as they sloped down the hill to the docks, and beyond them, the sea, so vast and constant, was ever present. The room itself was comfortable, notwithstanding the din; it was peaceful during the day for the most part, had ample storage with bookcases across most of the walls which Jaxmine had had put in herself; a large wardrobe with her robes and other gear, a three-quarter bed that, as of recently, had begun to creak more often, and cheerful lighting. Of course, Jaxmine might have borrowed some blossom crystals from the university, but the Nordic folks view any kind of wizardcraft with unhidden contempt. So, instead, she added vibrance to the old place by way of colourful rugs, tapestries, and throws.

But at that moment the most vibrant item was still the fervid dragon phallus that stood to attention on her desk. Without knowing what it was, one might believe it was the architectural dreams of a madman, a bizarre tower of lascivious proportions. From its bulbous base, which Jaxmine could only guess expanded in much the same way that its canid counterpart did, its thick girth was lined with rigid plates, yet the flexibility of the real appendage was not in question. Its angling, combined with a series of tenuous studs and ridges, suggested a superlative penetration on the receiver’s behalf. When she took the piece in her hands, the glass was cool, and on turning it, and letting her forest-green eyes examine its salacious design in the amber light, she began to question its true intention – for it may well have been a mere admiration of the beast’s physical form, contrary to any romantic aid. But in running her lips across the studs and ridges of its raphe, the doubt was erased. And almost from some hypnotic carnal lust, she pulled her robes above her waist and began fumbling to remove her knickers.